


Ruffled

by Angel_In_The_Impala



Category: Disney - All Media Types, Disney Animated Fandoms, Supernatural, Tangled (2010)
Genre: Alastair and Gordon Walker are the Stabbington brothers, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Angel Castiel, Angst, Balthazar is Maximus, Castiel is Rapunzel, Chuck is the King, Dean is Flynn/Eugene, Gabriel is Pascal, M/M, Naomi is Mother Gothel, Supernatural/Disney crossover, Victor Henriksen is the Captain of the Guard, just a heads up, there is kind of a gory scene in one of the last chapters, there's cursing/cussing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-02
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-04-18 15:26:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4710947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angel_In_The_Impala/pseuds/Angel_In_The_Impala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All his life, the angel Castiel has lived in the same tower, in the same hidden corner of the same forest. He longs to see what lies beyond his window and see all there is to see, especially the strange lights that've only appeared on his birthday every year. But Castiel cannot leave his tower, for he has a very special ability, according to his caretaker, Mother Naomi; Castiel his the ability to heal others through the power of his wings. But he cannot leave his home, because as he's been told since he was a small child, the outside world is a dangerous place, and a gift like his must be protected. </p><p>But Castiel's life takes an unexpected turn when a stranger, a theif by the name of Dean Winchester appears in his tower.</p><p>______________________</p><p>I don't own Supernatural or Tangled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolouge: A Silver Flower

_This is the story of how I died._

_Don't worry, this is actually a very fun story, and truth be told, the damn thing isn't even mine._

_This is the story of a boy named Castiel, and it starts with the moon._

_Now, once upon a time, a single drop of moonlight fell from the Heavens and from this small drop of moon, grew a magic, silver, flower. 'Magic? How?' you ask; well, it had the ability to heal the sick and injured. The catch: it was thought of as more of a legend than something real, a miracle, and only one person knew of its definate existance._

_Well, centuries passed, and a hop, skip, and a boat ride away grew a Kingdom. The Kingdom was ruled by a beloved King and Queen. In the Kingdom, humans and angels lived side-by-side. The King, His Royal Highness Chuck Shurley, had large wings himself._

_The Queen was planned to give birth to the heir of the throne soon, and she got sick... Really sick._

_She was running out of time, and that's usually when people start looking for a miracle. In this case, the magic silver flower._

_The one person who definatly knew of the flowers existance was called Mother Naomi. Instead of sharing the moons gift, the selfish asshole hoarded its healing power and used it to keep herself young and healthy for hundreds of years. All she had to do was sing a special song._

An old, wrinkly woman crouched on the ground, hands hovering over a flower, silver sparkling from its petals in the light of the moon. A gray dress hung awkwardly on her thin and boney frame. Her skin was thin, the dark veins visable on her frail hands. Her hair was a gray and white, tangled mess.

Far below, at the bottom of the cliff, waves crashed against the rocks, but other than that, all was quiet. The old womans raspy voice broke the silence, singing, "Flower gleam and glow. Let your power shine. Make the clock reverse. Bring back what one was mine... What once was mine."

As she sang, her features changed, her rough voice became smooth and melodic. Her body became fuller, the curves filling in the once-loose dress. Her skin was a healthy color, and no longer paper thin. Her hair was replinished to beautiful, brown, and bouncy curls.

The woman smiled, and then covered the silver flower with an artifical bush. She stood and pulled a black hood over her head, and the shadows consumed her as she disappeared into the forest.

_All right, you get the gist. She sings to it, she turns young, friggin' creepy, right?_

As she was placing the fake bush over the flower, a group of voices rang out over the ridge. Mother Naomi hurriedly hid the flower. Then she gripped her lantern and ran into the forest. Naomi glanced over her shoulder, and felt her heart stop.

In her hurry to keep herself, and the silver flower a secret, Naomi had failed to notice that when she'd picked up her lantern, it'd knocked the fake bush off the flower. It was too late to go back now and hide it; Naomi knew it. The silver flower was out in the open. Mother Naomi hid the lantern under the hem of her cloak, and took refuge in the dark shadows as the Guards came into view.

"We've found it!" a guard shouted out in disbelief. Two other guards came forth with a shovel and a bucket. Naomi's gray eyes narrowed in anger as her silver flower was dug up, roots n' all, and placed into the bucket.

Panic rose in Mother Naomi's chest; how was she to stay young now?

_The magic of the silver flower healed the Queen. Soon, it was time for the baby to be born. A healthy baby boy, a prince was born, with beautiful silver wings. I'll give you a hint: that's Castiel. To celebrate his birth, the King and Queen launched a flying lantern into the sky. Castiel's christening was scheduled for the next day, and he'd be shown the the Kingdom, the people would learn the name of their Prince._

_And for that one, blessed moment, everything was perfect... And then that moment ended._

The balcony doors to the King and Queens bedroom slowly creaked open. A slight breeze blew through the room, making the small mobile above a baby's crib turn. Mother Naomi crept into the room quietly, making her way to the baby Castiel's crib. She'd aged again since the night the flower had been dug up.

The moonlight that was seeping into the room caught the silver feathers of Prince Castiel's tiny, delicate wings. Naomi grinned wickedly as she began to sing very softly.

"Flower gleam and glow," Castiel's wings began to emit a soft, calm blue light. The feathers themselves shined a brighter silver and blue tint.

"Let your power shine," Mother Naomi reached for a small bundle of feathers at the base of his right wing. She planned to use the feathers now in place of her lost flower.

She gave a hard yank, and the shimmering feathers were pulled from Castiel's wings. "Make the clock re-" Naomi gasped. When the feathers had left the baby's body, they changed from shining silver to jet-black. And so did the feathers at the base of his right wing.

Castiel let out a pained cry, rousing his mother and father from sleep. But it was too late. Mother Naomi was already escaping out the window with the baby Prince by the time the King and Queen got out of their bed. Naomi disappeared into the night.

_The bitch broke into the castle, stole the child, and just like that - gone._

_The Kingdom searched and searched, but they could not find the Prince. For deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, Naomi raised the child as her own._

A few years passed. Naomi and Castiel lived in a tower, hidden in the most secret part of the forest. Castiel was turning six, and his little wings had grown a bit since he was a baby. They were still small and frail, not safe for flying yet.

The sun was going down, casting a soft, pink light into the room. Castiel and Naomi sat in front of a warm fireplace. Castiel sat atop a stool, and Naomi in her rocking chair behind him. A small smile graced her face as she carded her fingers through the little angels wings, fixing their ruffled state.

Castiel began to sing the song Naomi had taught him, " Heal what has been hurt. Change the fates design. Save what has been lost. Bring back what once was mine. What once was mine." His small voice echoed off the stone walls of the tower room. Naomi's appearance turned young again.

_Naomi had found her new magic flower. But this time, she was determined to keep it hidden._

Though Castiel couldn't fly yet, he could walk just fine. And he walked all over the tower: his room, his mother's room, the hallway, the stairs to his room, the main room, the kitchen, even the bathroom. But the place Castiel wanted to walk the most was outside. He wanted to feel the green grass tickling his toes, and feel the water of the stream pooling around his ankles. He wanted to smell the dirt, feel a trees rough bark beneath his hands, and absorb the sun's warmth. But Naomi would never let him go outside. Castiel was not allowed to go down the stairs that led to the door at the bottom of the tower.

"Why can't I go outside?" Castiel asked, his bright blue eyes looking down at his hands in his lap, a small frown on his face.

Naomi was quiet for a moment. Her fingers stopped messing with his wings, and were now combing through Castiel's hair, trying to tame the black mop. "The outside world is a dangerous place, filled with horrible, selfish people. You must stay here, where you're safe. Do you understand, flower?" She finally answered.

"Yes, Mommy, I understand," Castiel replied. He swung his feet back and forth, thinking over his mother's words. Those were all reasonable explanations to stay inside, right? She was just looking out for him, trying to keep her son safe. Castiel smiled; he was content with the answer Mother Naomi had given him.

_But the walls of that tower could not hide everything. Each year, on his birthday, the King and Queen released thousands of lanterns into the sky, in hope that one day, their lost Prince would return._

That night, after Naomi had gone to sleep, Castiel crept out of his room and into the towers main room. He flung open the wooden, window shutters and was greeted with his favorite sight.

Two years ago, on his fourth birthday, Castiel noticed strange lights rising into the sky. He'd never seen them before. The same thing had happened last year on his fifth birthday. Castiel had been looking forward to this moment all day; the moment to see if those odd lights would appear again. They were far off in the distance, slowing rising into the night sky. Castiel didn't think they were stars. If they are, those must be some really weird stars, Castiel thought to himself.

A smile graced his lips as he gazed at the lights in the sky. His head rested in his hands, elbows propped up on the wooden balcony ledge. It was at that moment, that Castiel vowed to himself that one day, he would not only know what the lights were, but that he'd see them up close. 


	2. When Will My Life Begin

13 YEARS LATER

 

The sun was barely beginning to rise, the sky still dark, but rays of light were slowly peeking over the horizon. On the balcony ledge of a lone tower deep in the forest, a small, green chameleon scurried across the wood. The small creatures golden eyes darted back and forth before resting on a potted plant. He quickly ran to it, hiding on the side facing out to the forest. It took just a second for the color of the animal's skin to mimic the floral pattern of the pot.

 

A moment later, the shutters were flung open by Castiel. "Ha!" he shouted. Castiel's blue eyes scanned the balcony, an amused smile on his face. His hands let go of the wooden shutters, and then he laced them behind his back. "Hmm... Well I guess Gabriel's not out here," Castiel shrugged, and slowly walked away. He bit his lower lip, trying not to giggle. He knew the balcony was most likely where his little friend was hiding. Sure enough, seconds later, Castiel heard a small sound coming from the balcony. He looked back over in that direction, and noticed an odd bulge by one of the flower pots waver. Castiel grinned as he quietly scampered back over. His hands darted out and caught Gabriel.

 

"Gotcha!" Castiel laughed, holding Gabriel carefully in his hands. He placed the small animal back on the surface of the balcony. "That's 22 for me. How about 23 out of 45?" he asked, all ready for another game of hide-and-seek. Gabriel had other ideas though, made obvious by the look he gave Castiel at the suggestion of another game.

 

The first lights of day caught the feathers of Castiel's wings as he leaned against the balconies  window frame. The silver feathers shimmered in the sunlight, and Castiel worked on removing a clump of dust from his wings as he asked, "Okay, well what do you want to do?"

 

Gabriel flicked his tail out towards the forest, and Castiel shook his head, tossing the dust clump to the ground. "Yeah, I don't think so. I like it in here," the angel gestured to himself, then pointed at Gabriel as he continued, ", and so do you."

 

The chameleon simply looked at Castiel for a few moments, before sticking his tongue out and blowing a raspberry. Castiel rolled his eyes and chuckled, muttering, "You are so immature." He then scooped Gabriel up in his hands again and began walking back inside the tower. "Oh c'mon Gabriel, it's not so bad in here." Castiel reassured.

 

Despite having been up for awhile now, Castiel was still in his sleepwear: loose brown pants and black shirt. He set Gabriel down on the wood surface of the kitchen counter. His bare feet slapped against the stone floor as he ran across the main room of the tower, then up a short flight of steps to his room. When he got there, Castiel walked over to the wardrobe closet and opened its doors. After undressing and standing around for a few moments thinking, he decided on his outfit for the day. He slipped a pair of black pants over his legs.

 

Castiel settled on wearing a baby blue satin shirt with sleeves that reached down to his elbows. Along the hems of the shirt, a pattern of a darker blue was weaved into the stitching. Mother Naomi had added that pattern to the shirt, and then told him that the colors reminded her of Castiel’s eyes. Out of the few shirts he had, this shirt was his favorite.

 

Because of his wings, Castiel's shirts were a bit different from normal ones. On the back of the shirt, where the base of his wings would be on his body, there were two holes, one for each wing. The holes were in the shape of a teardrop, and at the top of each point, there was a button. Before putting the shirt on, Castiel unbuttoned the pearl-like buttons, then slipped the shirt over his head. Once it was properly situated and his wings were resting in the areas with the two holes present, Castiel reached back. His fingers fumbled trying to locate the button and it’s corresponding slot, and proceeded to secure the button. He did this with the other side, then let his arms go back to his side, straightening out the shirt.

 

Before leaving his room, he looked at his reflection in the floor-length mirror. The colors black and blue had always looked nice on him, complimented his features well. Despite living in the tower all his life and never having been outside, Castiel's skin had a naturally light tan pigment to it. When he wore light colors, they contrasted nicely with his skin. He ran his fingers through his hair a few times, trying to see if he could make his ever-present case of bedhead tame down, but to no avail.

 

Castiel gave up after a few tries, and walked back down to the main room of the tower. Mother Naomi had left earlier in the morning, and Castiel wasn't sure when she was coming home. He looked around, trying to decide his plans for the day. "Chores, I think I should start with that, and get it out of the way," he said to himself, and looked around for a broom.

 

While he swept the stone floor, Castiel began humming a nonsensical tune, and he lost himself in the simple motions and the melody. Before he even realized it, Castiel had swept the floor clean. He put the broom away and took a glance at the nice plates and silver in the kitchen cabinets. They were overall spotless, and Castiel sighed in relief, thankful that today at least he wouldn't have to polish them.

 

There was a single bowl and plate out on the countertop. The bowl was filled with fresh fruits, and on the small plate was a loaf of cinnamon bread. Castiel reached for a clump of grapes, and popped one into his mouth. Gabriel was on the countertop too, eyeing the cinnamon bread hungrily. With his free hand, Castiel broke a generous amount off of the sweet treat, making sure to get one with plenty of the sugary, white icing, and placed it in front of Gabriel. The chameleon scarfed it down within seconds. “That much sugar probably isn’t healthy for you Gabriel,” Castiel said after eating another grape, and Gabriel simply looked up at him happily. Gabriel had always been fond of sweet and sugary treats, and Castiel knew that there was absolutely nothing he could do to break his little friend of that habit.

 

Over the years, Castiel had created many activities to busy himself with during the days. He had taught himself how to play the guitar, knit, and bake from a very young age. Whenever he'd play his guitar, Castiel never played any specific song; he would strum random tunes for long periods of time and let himself get lost in the melody. He loved playing his guitar, but this morning, Castiel didn't feel like playing. Somewhere in the tower was a box of knitted scarves, shawls, and blankets Castiel had made over the years. He began to smile, thinking to himself that he'd knit something, but the smile fell moments later, Castiel let out a sigh, remembering he'd run out of thread awhile ago.

 

Castiel didn't want to put any of his puzzles together, for he'd spent hours doing just that the day before, and he had a lot of puzzles. The day before he'd also played multiple games of darts, so the usually fun game didn't appeal to the angel today. Plus he'd spent quite some time getting stuck darts out of the side of his wooden wardrobe. "I do not feel like doing that again today," Castiel said to Gabriel. The chameleon's little head lifted off the countertop surface to look at Castiel, a seemingly smug look on his face. Castiel knew exactly what Gabriel was thinking about: the moment yesterday when he had been tugging at a particularly stubborn dart, and he'd tugged so hard that when the dart finally came free, Castiel fell hard on his bottom. "That wasn't funny Gabriel, the floor was hard," Castiel pouted, and rubbed his slightly sore behind.

 

Castiel gave an exasperated sigh, and tapped his fingers against his face. He hated days when he was like this, in a lazy and bored mood. He had plenty of things to entertain himself with and do, but not many were appealing at the moment. After a few more moments of hard thinking, Castiel eventually settled on reading his books, and picked Gabriel up.

 

Castiel only had three books and he's read each of them so much that he could probably recite them cover-to-cover, easily. Despite this, he loved his books. Castiel walked over to the shelf where they resided and scooped them up in his arms. He carried them up to his room and sat down on his bed, and Gabriel scurried down Castiel's arm onto the dark blue comforter. He curled up in a small ball, and his golden eyes looked up, like he was waiting for something. Castiel laughed and asked, "Which one will be first today?" Ever since Castiel had found Gabriel, he'd read aloud to the small animal.

 

The first book Castiel owned was a book about the night sky. Ever since he was little, he’d always been captivated by a dark sky, filled with twinkling stars and a shining moon. It pulled him in, and there were many nights when Castiel would gaze out the window, look at the stars, and not say a single word for hours. The book was filled with legends and sketches of the stars and moon.

 

The second book in Castiel’s possession was about wings, a guide on how to take care care of them, learning to use them, and basic facts. It explained the mechanics of flying, building the wings muscle strength, different shapes and sizes, and regrowth. Castiel had always taken extra good care of his magical wings. There was rarely ever a feather out of place, and were kept as clean as a whistle; so everytime the sun cast light across them, the silvers and faint blues shone. Throughout the years, as Castiel had grown, so had his wings. They weren’t massively large, but the tips did almost reach the floor. Since Castiel was never allowed outside, he’d never been able to put his wings to proper use. The only place he’d ever actually been able to fly was to the upper rafters of the tower, and even that had gotten harder as he’d gotten bigger. He always knew deep down that that wasn’t _actually_ flying, not really. Because of his lack of flying, Castiel knew his wings were lacking the proper muscle mass but he didn’t mind; they still did what they were supposed to do, they still retained their magical quality. There were many sketches of different types of wings, and different color variations; none of the other wings were silver like Castiels, and he thought that was interesting. He also wondered if there were any other angels that had magical wings, and if they were in hiding too. The last main thing the book covered was regrowth. If an angel ever lost a wing, it would not be gone forever. In time, the wing would grow back as if it had never been gone, and luckily for some, it wasn’t a long process. This section of the book made Castiel uneasy. What if _he_ lost a wing? Would it grow back, being able to heal and silver? Castiel thought not, especially because of the discolored feathers at the base of his right wing. The black feathers. The feathers that never glowed when he’d sing the healing incantation to his mother… The feathers that were useless. If Castiel lost his wings and became useless, would Mother Naomi still love him? Castiel didn’t like to dwell on the answer.

 

The third book was a story about a prince and a princess. Once upon a time, there had been a beautiful princess, and she’d been captured by a cruel and evil dragon. She was the evil beasts prisoner, and could not escape. But one day, a prince had come to her rescue, slaying the dragon, and the two lived happily ever after. It was Castiel’s favorite book, for the words flowed together so beautifully and the drawings were gorgeous; it brought the book together. Though Castiel had never seen another person besides himself and Mother Naomi, everytime he saw the drawing of the prince, he’d think to himself ‘ _He is quite handsome_ ’. The princess in the book thought so too. When Castiel was little and was reading the story for the first time, he’d asked his mother if he was ever going to marry a prince one day, just like the princess. Mother Naomi had chuckled, and ruffled his hair, telling Castiel that it was just a story, and he wouldn’t ever need anyone else outside the tower, because they had each other. Castiel remembered feeling disappointed; the book had made a wedding sound so nice. In time, Castiel had accepted that a prince wasn’t going to come to his tower, fall in love, and want to marry him. He was at peace with this though, and it’s not like he was alone. He had Mother Naomi and Gabriel.

 

Castiel eventually settled on reading the fairytale. He read with a soft smile on his face, letting the words wash over him, and fantasies of a wedding consume his mind. Near the end of the book, Castiel noticed that Gabriel had fallen asleep. He closed the book, and slowly got up from the bed, his back popping as he did so. He then quietly left the room and walked down to the main room.

 

The walls around him were covered in paintings he’d done himself over the years, and they reached up all the way to the rafters. He was running out of room, and these days anytime he painted, it would either be touch-ups or something very small. An idea for something to paint came to Castiel’s mind, and he just _had_ to do it. He began searching desperately for a place large enough to hold the masterpiece he planned to paint. His eyes settled on a wooden structure, laced with intricate designs, and resting atop a shelf above Castiel’s head. Velvety, red curtains framed the wood.

 

Without even a second thought, Castiel ran to get his brush-and-paint box, and then flitted onto the shelf. He rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and then moved the wood over behind the curtains. He was met with a smooth, blank wall and he smiled, resting a hand against the surface.

 

His hands were then a blur, moving between choosing paints and applying them to the wall. First, there was a dark blue background, and then soon overlapped with green trees and large hills. In the distance there was a castle, surrounded by  warm, yellow balls of light. Sitting atop one of the trees was Castiel; he often incorporated himself into his artwork, but it’s not like he exactly had a lot of people around him he could paint. Sometime along the way, Castiel had been humming, and was now singing the words he’d strung together softly, “Tomorrow night, the lights will appear, just like they do on my birthday each year. What is it like, out there where they glow?” The paintbrush in Castiel’s hand finished adding silver paint to his painted-self’s wings. “Now that I’m older, Mother might just let me go.”

 

As he placed that brush back in the box, he realized what he would have to do. When Mother Naomi returned to the tower, Castiel would ask her about going to see the floating lights.

 

~xXx~

 

Three men stood atop a castle’s roof, the towers around them hiding them from the guards making their rounds on the ground. The sun was continuing to rise above the horizon, and the sky was beginning to turn light blue, sun rays streaking across the sky.

 

Two of the men were kneeling down, fiddling with a rope and harness. The other walked around aimlessly, picking at the dirt underneath his fingernails. He walked a little further away from the other two, blocking out their voices. He leaned against a stone structure, while his green eyes took in the kingdom and lad below. A look of awe passed over the man's freckled face. “Wow,” he said to himself, “I could get used to a view like this.”

 

He could see it now: his own palace, jewels and gold galore, and basically anything he wanted. He’d be in a position of authority and he’d be respected. No more thieving and scrounging around to stay alive.

 

“Winchester, c’mon!” a voice tried tugging him back into reality.

 

“Hold on, Alastair,” Winchester held out a hand as if to stop the other man behind him from talking. He gazed out at the kingdom below him one more time before stepping back from the ledge. “Yep, I’m used to it. Guys I want a castle,” Winchester announced, propping his hands on his hips.

 

Alastair rolled his eyes, while the other man, Gordon, snickered. Alastair grabbed the collar of the green vest Winchester was wearing and yanked him over. Now that his focus was regained, Winchester began to buckle himself up into the harness. Gordon worked on fastening a rope through one of the harness loopholes as Winchester adjusted the brown leather satchel he was wearing. “We do this job right, you can buy your own damn castle,” Alastar sneered in his nasally voice as he and Gordon lifted a glass panel out of place.

 

This job that the three had going on was the thieves biggest one yet. There was a room inside the castle that they were on top of that held a precious treasure: The crown of The Lost Prince of Luna. Despite going missing 18 years ago, and only a day after his birth, the Prince’s crown was still in the palace. It had a sentimental value to the King and Queen, who had never been able to birth another heir. The next day, there was supposed to be a festival in the kingdom, in honor of the Lost Prince, which, according to Alastair, was the perfect time to steal the crown. He and Gordon had constructed the plan, and now it was time the man they called Winchester to play his role: He was going to steal the crown.

 

Once the glass panel was out of its slot and the rope was securely tied to Winchester’s harness, he sat on the openings ledge, his feet hanging down through the hole. Winchester scanned the room below him. The early morning sunlight seeping into the room from the windows looked soft against the deep, midnight blue carpet. Banners of the same blue were hung from the ceiling, trimmed with silver and the Kingdom’s emblem in the center; a silver, crescent moon. Step led to a platform at the back of the room, and there stood a lone pedestal. The pedestal was directly below Winchester, and when he squinted his eyes, he could see an object glinting in the light. The crown, it had to be. There was a total of five guards in the room, and all of them were stock-still, gazes focused dead ahead of them… Away from the crown. _‘Well that’s just the kind of crap job I’d expect out of these guys,’_ Winchester thought to himself.

 

Alastair and Gordon had a strong grip on the rope and readied themselves to lower the other man down the hole. “Don’t do anything stupid this time Winchester,” Gordon growled lowly. Winchester simply chuckled at his words and thought back to the first incident that caused Gordon and Alastair to worry during jobs.

 

A few months ago during a job, he’d almost gotten the three of them caught and thrown in jail. Alastair and Gordon were robbing some small towns treasury, and since Winchester had still been a bit new to the group, he was ordered to keep watch outside. He had been sitting on a bench near the buildings entrance, pretending to read, while keeping an eye out for guards. Eventually, two were slowly passing by, totally unaware of what was happening inside the building, but Winchester couldn’t help riling them up; rebellion and defiance were in his blood, it was a natural feeling to him. So, when the guards got in hearing range, Winchester, without looking up from his book, said “Nice plumage asshat. What is it, mating season?” He was referring to the guards helmets, which had an array of feathers coming from the top of the helmet. It looked utterly ridiculous. Within moments, one of the guards was gripping his vest and nearly lifting Winchester up off the ground. At that same moment, Alastair and Gordon were exiting the building, and caught the two guards attention. In their distracted state, Winchester had used the opportunity to knee the groin of the guard holding him, and then both of his feet were back on the ground. He quickly kicked the other guards feet out from under him, then ran to Alastair, taking one of the money-filled sacks. Winchester had shouted back a “Catch us if you can!” and then the three thieves disappeared in the city's complex ally system. Ever since then, it was a game Winchester loved to play; defying authority and giving chase, especially when he knew he wouldn’t get caught. Maybe he’d almost get caught or cornered, but he would never be shackled. No, he was far too good.

 

Winchester snickered at the memory, and the tossed a cocky smile Gordon’s way before whispering, “No promises pal. It’s still early.” And with that, Winchester slid off the edge of the hole and quietly descended down into the room. The rope and harness tugged at his waist slightly, but not uncomfortably so, and he tightened his grip on the satchel in his hand and he got closer to reaching the crowns pedestal. He was there in seconds, and quickly grabbed the crown, glancing over it before putting it in the satchel; he’d have time to marvel its beauty later.

 

When they’d been going over the plan, Alastair had told Winchester to tug the rope twice after he’d secured the crown, so that he and Gordon could pull him up. Winchester was about to tug the rope, but something stopped him from doing it right away. The guards were still staring straight ahead and unmoving, unknowing of what was taking place literally ten feet behind their backs. _‘God these guys are terrible,’_ Winchester thought, and the familiar feeling of rebellion and adrenaline began coursing through his veins. He was gonna do something “stupid”, he just couldn’t resist. Just then, one of the guards sneezed, wiped his nose, and groaned in annoyance. Winchester saw his chance, and said, “Oh, hay fever.” After that he gave two, quick tugs on the rope, and felt himself being pulled up rather quickly; Gordon and Alastair _knew_ what Winchester had just done, and were preparing to make a fast getaway.

 

Winchester heard the guard reply with a, “Yea,” and he stood still for a split second longer before he realized what happened. “Huh? Hey, wait. Wait!” All the guards turned around in an instant and looked up, aiming their crossbows. But by that point, Winchester was being hauled up and out of the hole in the ceiling. He slipped out of the harness in a flash, looped the rope around the leather harness, and handed it off to Alastair, who was glaring at Winchester; Gordon was too.

 

He slung the satchel over his shoulder with a laugh. “Oh c’mon guys, live a little. Chases are fun!” The other two simply grunted in response.

  
Minutes later, the three thieves has successfully gotten down from the palaces roof, ran through the city, and were now dashing along the bridge that was the main entrance to the kingdom. On the other side there was a vast forest, a place that they could easily hide from the guards, who weren’t far behind them. Winchesters legs were burning from all the running, but the adrenaline pushed him to go faster. Gordon and Alastair were a few strides behind him, and Winchester said over his shoulder, “Oh, the things we’ve seen and it’s only eight in the morning. Gentlemen, this is a very big day!”


	3. Mother Knows Best

“This is it. This is a very big day Gabriel,” Castiel said, a giddy smile on his face. He placed the last case of paint in the wooden box and gently closed the lid. “I’m gonna do it; I’m gonna ask her!” Castiel exclaimed, excited he’d finally come to a decision. “I just hope she says yes.” Castiel had always been good, he never tried to leave the tower, he’d never defied Mother Naomi; surely she’d take that into consideration. And besides, it’s not like Castiel was asking to go by himself; he’d ask Mother Naomi to accompany him.

 

Right at that moment, a female’s voice rang out, “Castie-el! I’m home.”

 

“It’s time!” Castiel said to Gabriel as he hid his new painting, the drapes loosely covering it. “Hurry, hide before she gets up here,” he warns, then looks to make sure the chameleon hides. Castiel had never known how Mother Naomi would feel about him having a friend from the outside world, even if it was just an animal, so Gabriel would always be hidden whenever she was around. Gabriel hid in the shadows of the curtains and changed his colors into an inky black. Castiel slid off of the ledge, his bare feet slapping against the stone floor as he ran to the balcony. Next to the window was a crank, and a worn-looking handle attached to it. A rope was coiled up inside, and a bit was peeking out of the hole and trailing down to the ground.

 

“Castiel, I’m not getting any younger down here,” shouted the woman in a sing-song voice.

 

“Coming Mother,” Castiel replied, nervousness and excitement brewing in the pit of his stomach as he pulled rope out of the box, looped it through a hook on the ceiling of the balcony, and then fed it off over the side. He looked over the ledge to check if a woman wearing a black cloak was holding onto the rope; she was, and Castiel grabbed the handle and began turning it, hauling the woman up.

 

A few short minutes later, the woman was swinging her dress-clad legs over the balcony edge, and released her hold on the rope. “Welcome home Mother,” Castiel greeted, giving her a smile.

 

Mother Naomi stepped into the main room and placed the wooden basket she’d been holding onto the floor. “Castiel, how you manage to do that everyday without fail! It looks absolutely exhausting darling,” she said, placing her hand on Castiel’s shoulders.

 

He gave a small, lopsided grin and replied, “Oh, it’s nothing really.” And it wasn’t. His wings may not’ve had a lot of muscle mass, but his arms were another story. After years of turning the crank to bring Mother Naomi up into the tower, Castiel’s arms had become toned, lean, and strong. Nowadays, he’d barely break a sweat when having to pull her up on the rope.

 

“Then I don’t know why it takes so long!” the woman laughed and tapped a finger against Castiel’s nose. As confusion was beginning to cross his features, Naomi laughed again, “I’m just teasing.” She pulled the black hood off of her head and unclipped the silver pin holding the cloak together. She removed it from her shoulders and smoothed out the wrinkles that’d formed in her dark gray dress. Naomi then placed the article of clothing in Castiel’s arms, saying, “Put this away for me Castiel.” He nodded and went to hang it up. He put the black fabric on a peg in the wall, right next to his burlap brown cloak. When the weather would get so cold that it would chill the cobblestone floor, Castiel would wear his cloak for hours on end. It always kept him warm, because since it went over his wings and kept them close to his body, it trapped the heat against him; something Castiel was ever-thankful for. He absolutely detested the cold.

 

He made his way back over to Naomi, who was standing in front of a floor length mirror, and taking out the pin that held her hair in a tight bun. The reddish-brown locks cascaded down over her shoulders. As she was running her finger through her hair, Castiel wrung his hands together nervously. He cleared his throat, and then said, “Alright, so Mother, as you know, tomorrow is a very big day-,” Castiel was cut off as his mother placed a hand on his shoulder, and pointed at the mirror.

 

“Castiel, do you know what I see when I look into that mirror?” he looked at his and his mother’s reflections, blue eyes squinting and head tilting to the right, waiting for Mother Naomi’s answer. “I see someone that’s young, strong, confident, and beautiful,” Naomi said gently, sincerity dripping from her tone, and Castiel righted his head as a small smile graced his lips. But it was short lived as Naomi continued, “Oh look, you’re here too!” she laughed loudly, head tossed back as she did so. Castiel frowned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “I’m just teasing. Stop taking everything so seriously,” Naomi said with a nudge to his shoulder. The auburn haired woman leaned in closer to the mirror, inspecting the wrinkly bags under her eyes, and the age spots on the backs of her hands.

 

He gave out a light chuckle, hands still twisting together nervously. Naomi was now frowning at her reflection, eyes focused on the gray strands among her hair between the browns and reds. Castiel tried speaking again, “So Mother, as I was saying-,”

 

“Castiel, Mother’s feeling a bit run down. Would you sing for me dear? Then we’ll talk,” Naomi interrupted again.

 

“Oh! Of course Mother!” he replied excitedly, for he knew that within a few moments, he’d finally get to ask Mother Naomi about going to see the floating lights that have captivated his interest for so long. He ran over to Naomi’s chair, and adjusted its position slightly. Every time Castiel sang to her, Naomi would sit in this rocking chair. As Naomi was coming to take her seat, Castiel ran and grabbed his small, wooden stool he’d been using since he was a small child. Before Naomi had even sat down, Castiel was seated on his stool, silver wings facing her. 

 

He began singing the healing  incantation at a rapid pace, not even bothering to take a breath in between words, "Flower gleam and glow let your power shine make the clock reverse bring back what once was mine." Naomi's gray eyes widened at how fast Castiel was singing. His wings were pulsating the silver light, tinged with a faint blue glow. Naomi fumbled, trying to brush through the feathers as Castiel continued to quickly sing, "Heal what has been hurt change the fates design save what has been lost bring back what once was mine." Naomi felt the wrinkles leave her body and her skin grew taut and young again. Her hair regained some of it's volume and pure auburn color.

 

"Castiel!" She exclaimed in an agitated tone as he turned around to face her.

 

He grabbed her arm, a giddy smile on his face. Castiel spoke, words still rushing breathlessly together, "So Mother, as I said, tomorrow is a pretty big day and you didn't really respond so I'm just going to tell you. It's my birthday! Tada!" Castiel's wings had fluffed up in excitement, and his blue eyes were shining as he let out a little laugh.

 

Naomi pulled her arm out of Castiel's grip. "No, can't be. I distinctly remember; your birthday was last year," she replied in a teasing manner.

 

“But birthday’s are an  annual thing, Mother,” Castiel replied seriously, not seeing the joke. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Mother, I am turning eighteen, and what I really want for this birthday; well what I’ve actually wanted for quite a few birthdays now-” Castiel had begun to mumble the last part before he’d been cut off.

 

“Castiel, enough with the mumbling, you know how much I hate the mumbling. It’s very annoying,” Naomi interrupted again, with a roll of her eyes. She then pinched his cheek, saying, “I’m just kidding, you’re adorable. I love you so much darling.” Naomi stood, picked her basket up from off the floor, and went to place it on the kitchen counter. She began putting the contents of the basket in different cupboards of their kitchen. 

 

After a few moments of silence, Castiel looked at the ground, took a deep breath, and blurted out, “I want to see the floating lights!” For a second, he felt a weight lift from his shoulders. He’d been wanting to say those words for years and he finally had done it. Castiel’s excitement and relief wilted as he saw Mother Naomi pause, an apple in hand.

 

She quickly set it in the bowl of fruit on the counter and turned her head to look at him. “What?” Naomi asked quietly.

 

Castiel shuffled from foot to foot awkwardly. “Well, I was hoping you would  _ take  _ me to see the floating lights,” he said, a bit slower and louder than his previous statement. He climbed back up on the ledge and drew the curtains apart, unveiling his painting.

 

Mother Naomi arched a brow at it before looking away, continuing to unload the basket. “Ah, you mean the stars,” she finally replied.

 

The black-haired boy pointed to the ceiling of the tower, at another painting he’d done sometime in the past. With the help of his own observations and one of his books, Castiel had made a map of the night sky. “See that’s the thing, I have charted stars, and these appear every year on my birthday, Mother.  _ Only _ on my birthday,” Castiel insisted further. When he was younger, he’d thought that they could possibly be stars, but with age, that seemed more and more unlikely. These were larger, closer, they moved in inconsistent patterns, and they only appeared on one night out of the year. He knew there was no way those strange lights could be stars. “I just can’t help but feel like they are meant for me,” Castiel said wistfully, gazing at the new painting before climbing off the ledge. He walked to the middle of the room, and faced Naomi. “I need to see them Mother, and not just from my window; in person,” he gestured to the balcony window as Naomi turned to him, hands on her hips. Castiel looked down at the floor, and his voice became quieter as he pleaded, “I need to know what they are.”

 

“You want to go outside? Oh Castiel,” Mother Naomi sighed. She walked over to Castiel, and grabbed his hands. “You’re still so young, and so fragile,” she gave his hands a gentle squeeze, and looked into his eyes. Castiel knew a lecture was on its way. Mother Naomi had delivered a good few lectures when he was little, but not as of late. He’d been lectured when he was seven, when Mother Naomi had caught him stealing cookies from the cookie jar in the middle of the night. Another time, when he was twelve, he’d left some of his paint supplies out in the middle of the floor and she’d tripped over them. Another lecture had branched from the previous incident, for when Naomi had tripped, she’d let out a curse word. A few days after that had happened, Castiel had repeated it, shouting “Shit!” when he’d dropped a plate. Afterwards, Naomi had given him a stern talking to about never using certain words, and to especially make sure he never said them to her.

 

Castiel nibbled at the inside of his cheek, waiting for Mother Naomi’s lecture to begin. “You know why we stay up in this tower; it’s to keep you safe and sound. I always knew this day was coming, ever since you were little. You were always so curious. I knew that with age, you’d want to leave the nest,” she let go of his hands and began pacing around the room, a habit that Castiel knew meant there was no stopping his mother's rant. So he stayed where he was, and waited as she continued, “As your mother, I know what’s best for you, so take it from me, Castiel. As I’ve said in the past, the outside world is scary and cruel. If you go out there, something will go wrong, I swear. There are terrible people, Castiel; ruffians, thugs, cannibals, and even men with pointy teeth.” 

 

Castiel’s eyes widened, and his eyebrows shot up.  _ ‘Men with pointy teeth? That’s frightening,’  _ he thought. Naomi was not done yet, and she rambled on, “Nature will get you too. Snakes, large bugs, poison ivy, quicksand… The plague.”

 

“No!” Castiel gasped. Naomi had once told him stories about a terrible plague that took thousands of lives in a short amount of time. They say if you got the plague, there was nothing that could save you.  _ ‘What about the power of my wings?’ _ Castiel had always wondered, but hoped that he’d never have to discover.

 

“Yes Castiel. But here, Mother can protect you from all those things. On your own…” Naomi paused, and her pacing was brought to a halt. She looked at Castiel pityingly before saying, “Darling on your own you wouldn’t survive.” He was about to protest, to say he didn’t want to go on his own; Mother Naomi could take him. As Castiel opened his mouth, Naomi plowed on with her reasons. “I mean look at you. You’re sloppy, underdressed, immature, clumsy; the real world will eat you up alive,” she’d begun to tick the things she said off her fingers, “You’re gullible, naive, positively grubby, ditzy, and a bit well, hmm… Vague.” Castiel felt his eyes start to water at his mother's words. He wasn’t sloppy or grubby; Castiel kept himself very clean, washing regularly. He looked down at his clothes. _Was_ he underdressed? Sure, the pants were short, reaching only mid calf, but they weren’t too small. _‘It’s not like I can go out and buy myself more clothes,’_ he thought bitterly. Castiel did admit that he was clumsy, but not terribly so, except for a single incident. One time, he’d let a handful of eggs slip from his clutches, then they’d all cracked and spilled on the stone floor. Moments later, one of his wings had struck a rack holding spices, bowls, and plates, and the entire thing had come falling down. But what about the other things Naomi had said?

 

_ Immature? _

 

_ Gullible? _

 

_ Naive? _

 

_ Ditzy? _

 

_ Vague? _

 

Castiel’s teeth worried at his lower lip harshly. Was he really all those things, really that flawed in his mother's eyes?  _ ‘How am I supposed to know any better?’  _ he asked himself.

 

“I say these things because I love you Castiel. I understand what you’re feeling, wanting to explore the outside world and meet new people, make new friends. But darling, I’m your friend and I’m here to help you, and I just can’t let you go out there. You could get hurt,” Mother Naomi opened up her arms for a hug, and Castiel ran to be embraced by them. Her more recent words clouded over the other things she’d just said. The tears that’d been welling in his eyes stalled as the words sank in.

 

_ I love you… _

 

_ I understand… _

 

_ I’m your friend… _

 

_ I’m here to help you… _

 

Castiel hugged his mother tightly, and she gently stroked his wings for a few moments. “All I have is one request,” She murmured softly, then stepped out of the hug. Naomi placed her hands on Castiel’s shoulders and looked down at him. “Castiel,” she said.

 

He looked up to meet her gaze, his big, blue eyes still slightly glassy. “Yes Mother?” he replied.

 

Naomi’s grip tightened on Castiel’s shoulders, her nails digging into the skin beneath the fabric of his shirt. “Don’t ever ask to leave this tower again,” she said through gritted teeth. 

 

“Yes Mother,” Castiel hung his head, his wings visibly drooping, and he felt like his breath had gotten stuck in his throat, and he began breathing heavily, trying to get air back into his lungs. He’d been so hopeful, so sure, that Mother Naomi was going to say yes.  _ ‘What did I do wrong?’  _ he wondered, the tears threatening to fall again.

 

Before they could begin streaking down his face, Mother Naomi’s hold on his shoulders lessened, and she gently grabbed his chin and tilted his face up to look at her. “Castiel, look at me,” she said. It took a moment for the words to register and for him to get his breathing back to a normal rate. When he finally did meet her gaze, she was reaching towards one of his wings. As Mother Naomi was fixing a displaced feather, she continued, “I love you very much dear.”

 

“I love you more,” Castiel whispered back.

 

She stroked the feathers one last time before saying, “I love you most.” Naomi placed a small kiss on his forehead, then tapped the tip of his nose, and continued in a sing-song voice, “Don’t forget it, you’ll regret it. Mother knows best!” She let go of him and walked back to the kitchen, going to continue the task of putting food away.

 

Castiel stood there for a few moments longer, the feeling of defeat weighing heavily on him. He looked at his newest painting, and was not filled with pride like he usually was with most of his other finished products; Castiel could feel the pain in his heart when he looked at the lights dancing in the inky black sky and at the figure he had done of himself, sitting on a treetop, silver wings fluffed up in excitement. The fantasy Castiel had captured on the wall would never be a reality, and he just couldn’t look at the painting right now.

 

He walked over and hopped on the ledge, the sounds of Mother Naomi  moving in the kitchen were dulled in his mind. Castiel's hand grabbed a handful of the curtain and gave it a harsh yank to cover the mural up.

 

Castiel eventually went to sit down at his chair and faced the wall. He brought one wing around and let the pads of his fingers trace the bottom silver feathers, and the other wing continued to appear droopy. Castiel was sulking, he knew he was; and he also knew that Mother Naomi hated sulking, almost as much as she hated the mumbling, but he didn't care. 

 

Castiel was going to be eighteen years old tomorrow, and the one thing he  so desperately wanted, what he had wanted the most throughout his life, was to see those floating lights. He had just been denied his dream, and it was crushing Castiel on the inside, but he wouldn't let himself cry. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, and as he did, he heard Mother Naomi mutter something along the lines of, "Where are they? Did I really forget to pick some up?"

 

Castiel took one last deep breath to even himself out and turned to face her. "Is everything alright, Mother?" he asked quietly.

 

"I'm going to have to go back out, Castiel. It seems I forgot to pick something up," she answered, grabbing her cloak again. She draped it over her shoulders and fastened the pin. This time, she left her hair down. As she got her basket, Castiel prepared the rope to lower her down to the ground. As Naomi descended, Castiel did have to hold the rope, just to make sure it wouldn't lower her too quickly. As her boot-clad feet touched the grass, she called up, "I'll see you in a bit my flower!"

 

"I'll be here," Castiel whispered to himself as she walked away.

 

~xXx~

 

"Alright boys, let's take a breather for a moment," Alastair wheezed and stopped running, hunched forward with his hands on his knees. Gordon chose to sit down, and Winchester let himself lean back against a tree. There was a slight breeze blowing through, and Winchester listened to the sound of rustling leaves as he waited for his heart rate to slow. But another sound caught his attention; it sounded similar to the sound of swaying leaves, but not quite. His green eyes scanned the area and landed on two “Wanted” posters. “Oh no, no no no no no, oh shit, this is bad, this is very, very bad,” he babbled, briskly walking to the tree.

 

Winchester ripped the paper from the nail it had been pinned to the tree with, and he quickly read over the paper. Across the top, in all capitals, it read ‘WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE. Underneath that was a picture of a man who looked like Winchester everywhere but the nose. “They just can’t get my nose right!” he complained and quickly showed Gordon and Alastair for a moment before looking over the rest. At the bottom of the page it read ‘Dean Winchester. Thief. Reward.’ “Oh c’mon, not even a specified amount of money? I know I should be worth... A lot, at least,” Dean Winchester grumbled.

 

“Who cares?” Gordon said with a roll of his dark brown eyes and wiped sweat off of his forehead.

 

“I care! They made my nose too damn big; way out of proportion. Now you guys, y’all look amazing,” Dean replied and gestured to his comrades “Wanted” posters. Dean folded his poster and shoved it in the satchel just as the three heard the guards approach a nearby hill, and they took off running again.

 

_ ‘Just a little bit further into the woods, and we’ll lose the guards for good’ _ , Dean thought, sure of it.  _ ‘Just a little bit further and…’ _

 

_ ‘Shit.’ _

 

The three thieves stopped dead in their tracks as they came face to face with a sheer rock wall. The sounds of guards shouting and hooves clomping in the distance was ringing in Dean's ears as he tried to figure out a way around the problem. He raked his hands through his short brown hair, closed his eyes, and took a few moments to think. "Uh okay, so stand on each other's shoulders, then I'll climb up, and once I get to the top, I'll hoist you up," he finally said, and faced the other two. 

 

Alastair and Gordon shared a look, then the latter held out his hand. "Give us the satchel first," Gordon demanded.

 

Dean knew this would be said, and he acted offended. “I can’t believe this. After everything, after all that we’ve been through, you don’t trust me? Unbelievable,” Dean said, eyes pleading and faking innocence. The other two said nothing in return, just simply glared at Dean with their arms crossed. “Ouch, you really know how to make a guy feel like part of the team,” he dropped the act, and removed the satchel from his person. While he did, he fiddled with the metal latch on the strap, loosening it, and dropped it into Gordon’s outstretched hand, hoping they wouldn’t notice what Dean had just done. Dean kept his features calm as Gordon slipped the strap over his shoulder, unaware of how loose it was, and how the metal latch was just barely holding it all together. It was only when Alastair and Gordon turned away he then grinned smugly. 

 

Alastair make a quick job of climbing, then balancing, on Gordon’s shoulders. After making sure they were steady, Dean glanced at the location of the bags metal latch; on the backside of one of Gordon’s shoulders, there was no better place for it really. All Dean had to do was step on it, and if all went well, the disruption would cause the latch to come undone all the way, and then he would snatch it. Dean began his climb up. Going according to his plan, Dean’s foot ended up flicking the latch all the way loose, and before it could slip and fall, he grabbed it and shoved the bag between his shirt and fitted vest. It was comfortable by no means, but it stayed in place, and the best part: Neither Alastair nor Gordon knew what had just happened.

 

As Dean neared the top of the literal man tower, he was insanely tempted to “accidentally” step on Alastair’s face, but decided against it. Finally, Dean was able to get to the top of the ridge, with the satchel still secure and in place.

 

“Alright pretty boy, now haul us up,” Alastair demanded, holding a hand up for Dean to grab.

 

“I would boys, but sorry, my hands are full,” he teased, pulling out the satchel and dangled it above their heads. He smirked and removed himself from the ledge. Dean fixed the metal latch and swung the strap over his head so it was properly resting on his shoulder and made a run for it. He heard Alastair shout his name in rage and Dean let out a laugh, shouting over his shoulder, “Enjoy prison, I’ll miss the sounds of your laughter!” But his good mood didn’t last long; a group of guards were still after him. The sound of thundering hooves was right behind him, and he cast a look over his shoulder. Dean saw three guards, and his eyes widened when he saw one of them loading a crossbow. He turned his focus forward again and could see a large log up ahead. It was huge, too big for Dean, and even possibly the horses, to leap over.  _ ‘But what about under it?’  _ Dean thought.

 

He ran faster, and when he got close enough to the log, Dean slid under it. A mere second later, an arrow could be heard whistling through the air, and then slicing into the wooden log. Once he passed under it, Dean picked himself off the ground and continued running. Looking back, he saw that his little stunt had stopped at least two of the three guards. One horse had managed to clear the log, and his rider was focused dead-ahead on Dean, determination evident in his face. Now whether that was determination to simply capture Dean, or to lodge his sword in his back, was unknown, and the thief didn’t plan on finding out anytime soon.

 

Dean’s eyes caught something else in the forest that he knew he could use to his advantage; a vine hanging off of a tree. Without wasting another moment, Dean ran at the vine full-force and grabbed it, his energy propelling him around the tree in a full circle. It had all happened so fast, the guard hadn’t even had time to react or change directions, just as Dean hoped would happen. His feet came around and barreled into the guard, knocking him from the strong, white steed. Dean saw the guard go toppling down a hill, and in seconds was out of sight. The horse had continued for a few more feet, blond mane waving in the wind, before coming to an abrupt halt, and Dean jolted forward in the saddle.

 

The horse’s head whipped to the side, a blue eye seeming to glare at Dean, and the creature was puffing angry breaths from his muzzle. Dean glared right back, and snapped the reins. “Heyah! C’mon flea-bag, forward!” he snapped the reins again and kicked back against the flank. The horse’s eyes narrowed and his ears flattened back and Dean knew he was in trouble; this beast was now ten kinds of pissed off. Then it saw that Dean was wearing the satchel and attempted to grab at it, teeth snapping a bit too close for Dean’s liking. “No, stop it,” he said sternly, and removed a hand from the reins to move the satchel around his body, and the horse snapped again. “I said stop, damn it. Go forward,” Dean demanded with another nudge to the flank.

 

The horse went ballistic, now attempting to throw Dean off, while still trying to capture the bag between his teeth. After a few tries,  the horse's teeth lodged into a corner of the bag and he yanked. Dean kept his grip right on it, pulling it back towards him.  _ 'I cannot believe I am playing tug-o-war with a friggin horse,' _ Dean thought to himself as he continued to pull the satchel. Not knowing if the horse had an actual name or not, Dean settled on calling the thing "Bitch".

 

Suddenly the bag went flying, out of both of their grips. The man and beast watched as it landed on a large branch overlooking a deep ravine. Dean pushed himself off of the horse and dashed to his bag. Along the way, Bitch tried stepping on him multiple times. Dean got to the satchel first and waved it around, taunting the horse and shouting, "Ha! Take that, Bitch! " Dean knew he had made a mistake as soon as the horses icy blue eyes deeply glared at him. Thinking it couldn't get worse, the bitch then stepped on the log, trying to get closer Dean. 

 

Dean was all out of options, there was no way to get out of this situation. As Bitch took another step, the branch began to snap. Without a moment to think, the branch broke, and Dean and the horse both fell into the ravine.

~xXx~

Dean groaned, entire body aching, and his neck popped as he moved it from side-to-side. The brown, leather satchel was a few feet away from him, and Dean was praying to whoever was listening that the crown hadn’t broken or become ruined in the fall. He grabbed the bag and opened it, inspecting the contents. His “Wanted” poster lay at the bottom, crumpled, by a small sack of coins, but most importantly, the crown was undamaged.

 

But before Dean could take the item out and admire it’s beauty, he heard the sound of a whinny, and he flipped the cover of the satchel to shut. “How the hell is Bitch even alive after the fall?” Dean muttered, and stood as quickly as he could, clutching the satchel to his chest, and surveyed the area. It was a small clearing, with fair amounts of sunlight filtering through the large canopy of tree leaves. What looked like a cave was to his left, the entrance covered by a layer of hanging vines and leaves. Dean could hear that the horse was getting closer, and he admitted it, he was kind of scared of the beast, so without further ado, he dashed into the cave. Seconds later, the horse was in the clearing where Dean had just been. He saw it’s shadow pace back and forth for a few moments, and Dean held his breath, pressing his back as close to the cave wall as he could get. 

 

Those few seconds seemed like minutes, but the horse finally left, and Dean took a deep breath. He put the bag strap over his shoulder and looked around for another way out, not wanting to risk running into Bitch, and he saw there was an opening at the other end of the cave. Dean immediately headed that way. 

 

Dean stepped into another clearing, this one more beautiful than the last, and stood in awe at the sight before him. However it was not the sparkling stream trickling past, not the lush green grass waving in the breeze, nor was it the clusters of vibrant flowers that’d made Dean stop so suddenly… It was a tower. In the far corner of the clearing, nestled against a tall cliff face, was a tower.

 

~xXx~

 

Castiel didn’t know how long he was standing at his balcony. He’d tried to think of ways to convince Mother Naomi to let him go, but could think of nothing. As Castiel was admiring the small, delicate petals of an orange flower on the balcony, movement far below at the clearing entrance caught his eye. He started to grab for the rope to lower it down for Mother Naomi, but stopped dead in his tracks when he really looked at the figure. The person approaching was  _ not  _ his mother.

 

Gabriel, perched on the balcony ledge, looked at Castiel with wide eyes, and he came to grab his small friend, whispering, “What do we do Gabriel?” He placed the chameleon on the kitchen counter, and frantically looked around for something, for anything, he could use if this stranger somehow got into the tower. How did anyone even know Castiel was here, and how did they know when Naomi would be gone? Castiel tried to take deep breaths to calm himself down; he knew panicking would only worsen the situation. His blue eyes rested on a frying pan, and without another thought, he grabbed it.

 

He peeked out over the balcony ledge, and saw the man approaching the tower. How he planned on getting in, Castiel had no clue, but he was not going to let anyone come into his home to take his wings without a fight.

 

~xXx~

 

Dean approached the base of the tower and walked around, trying to find a door, but there wasn’t one to be found. He scratched his head, confused.  _ ‘How did anyone ever get into this place?’  _ he wondered. Dean stood below the balcony and looked up, surveying the wall. He tugged on some of the thick ivy attached to the brick, and they held strong. “Guess I’m climbing,” Dean informed no one, and began his way up.

 

In places the ivy was thin and weak, and Dean had to clutch onto the stone bricks. By the time he reached the wooden balcony, even his strong muscles were screaming in fatigue, already having been battered from the fall into the ravine. He pulled himself over the ledge and stretched his arm muscles as his feet his the floor.

 

He stepped into the room, the only light coming from the open balcony windows and other small windows around the room. Dean removed the satchel from his body and opened it, excited at a chance to finally rest and actually  _ look  _ at the priceless crown. “Alone at last,” he said.

  
Not a moment later, something hard hit him in the back of the head, Dean’s vision went black, and he fell to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know... I'm so so so sorry on how long it took to upload this chapter. I had writers block for awhile, my laptop is broken, and whenever I did get motivated to write my grades in school would get bad so I had to haul ass to fix those. But with summer coming up, I will do my best to post whenever possible. Chapter 4 is already well under way. Thank you everyone who is sticking with me through this, your kudos and comments are greatly appreciated an inspiring :) I'm posting this through a computer at school, and ao3 is the only site I can access here. If you're also tuned into this story on Quotev and Wattpad, I will update there sometime tonight when I get home! Thank you guys, lemme know what you think, and if you see any typo's don't be afraid to tell me, my eyes often miss them. Enjoy Chapter 3 everyone!


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